


Family Heirloom

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s08e17 Empedocles, F/M, Post-Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV, angsty fluff, that weird doll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 19:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Set post-MSIV: Scully goes looking in the attic of the unremarkable house for the doll Mulder gave her in "Empedocles" for their new baby.





	Family Heirloom

The darkness grins at her as another sleepless night finds her. Mulder is fast asleep, his warm presence and even, deep breathing no longer enough comfort to lull her to sleep. Not these days, anyway. Her hand wanders to her stomach, an absent-minded motion. It’s still flat and soft. No one but her and Mulder know she’s pregnant. There’s no one to tell. Except… it’s been three weeks and she tries not to think about him, about their son. They lost William, again. She is not sure they’ll ever get a chance to get to know Jackson. Scully knows he’s alive. She feels it, feels him. The night she told Mulder, about her pregnancy, about Jackson, they held each other as they both cried until there was nothing left. She felt him then, too. A soft throbbing in her head that was not quite a headache. As if telling her he was fine, asking her to give him more time. How much time, she wonders now as she strokes her stomach. She wants to be happy, needs to be for the baby inside of her. And yet…

Trying not to wake up Mulder, Scully decides to get up. It’s 2 am and it’s bad enough that one of them is awake. She avoids the squeaky stairs as she goes downstairs to make herself tea. Maybe that will help. One of Mulder’s sweatshirts is thrown over his desk chair and she smiles as she picks it up. She takes a deep breath and revels in his familiar scent. She puts the sweatshirt over her pajamas. In a few months even this won’t fit her. She knows she should think about buying maternity clothes; there are so many things to think about. Mulder has tried once or twice. Has suggested a baby name, has shown her furniture in one of those awfully colorful baby store catalogues. All she can do is nod; she still feels numb, feels the unfairness of it all wearing her down.

The tea is hot but tastes stale. She wonders when Mulder bought it. Scully makes a mental note to check the expiration date on all his foods, all his supplies. Taking another sip, she thinks of condoms. What a random thought. They haven’t used one in years and if they had that one time a few months ago… She remembers the first time when they were on the run. Mulder’s incredulous look when she asked him if he had any. They took a chance that first night. When Mulder brought a box of condoms home from the pharmacy the next day, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She feels the same way now. She should be happy, but. With them, whatever life throws at them, there’s always a but and Scully is tired of it. She leaves the tea on the kitchen counter and trudges back upstairs. The bedroom door is ajar because she didn’t close it. There are no discernible noises so she decides that Mulder is still asleep and unaware of her restlessness. She doesn’t know what drives her when she goes up into the attic. Spider webs and dust greet her and she sneezes. The Christmas decoration is up here just like the old ergometer neither of them ever used. The boxes she’s looking for are in the back. They’re closed and wear a thick covering of dust. For a moment Scully can only stare at them. Each box is labeled; William’s clothes, William’s toys, William’s first Easter. It was also his last, she thinks now as she rips open another, smaller one. The one that has a simple William written on it in her mother’s gentle handwriting. Scully traces the name, feels tears prick her eyes. She’s looked inside only once before she taped it shut again. Now she wonders if Mulder has ever seen it.

What she’s looking for is at the bottom of the box. The light up here in the attic is dim, but she doesn’t need it for this. Her fingers close around the rugged fabric, squeeze it softly. Scully takes the doll out, traces the simple face, straightens the hair. She smiles through her tears. They don’t have any pictures of Mulder’s family here in this house; she asked him about it once and he shrugged saying he didn’t have any. There’s the framed one of Samantha, a girl frozen in time. There are none of his mother, none of his father. No family portraits, nothing. Three weeks ago, Mulder shot the man who gave him life. A man he’s never once considered his father. A man who has taken so much from them, who has caused nothing but pain. The only thing Scully wants her child, both their children, to know is that there was love once in the Mulder family. She wants Mulder to remember it, too.

“Scully?” His voice comes from downstairs, sounds drowsy and worried.

“I’m up in the attic,” Scully says loudly, her voice close to breaking. It only takes a few moments for Mulder to come up. He coughs and swears; it makes her smile.

“What are you doing up here?” His hair sticks into every direction. “At… whatever time it is. I woke up and you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers simply. “I was thinking about this.” She holds the doll out to him.

“I gave you that doll when you were pregnant with Wil- when you were pregnant the first time.” Mulder tentatively touches the doll’s face then draws his hand back as if it were on fire.

“You did,” Scully says and takes his hand in hers, “Do you remember what I told you when you did?” They look at each other. He is the one with the photographic memory but this moment when they sat on her couch is engraved in her mind. She sees it in bright colors, is certain she can almost touch it, taste it. Mulder remains quiet, but she knows he remembers.

“I thanked you for giving me courage to believe. You still do that, Mulder. Without you…” She puts their entwined hands on her stomach, “I couldn’t do this without you, not again.”

“You won’t have to,” he whispers and Scully nods.

“I know. But tonight, I needed a reminder. I want our child to have this doll, Mulder. I know it belonged to William, but…” He tilts her chin up.

“Hey, I can make another doll just like this one.” He grins at her through tears and she laughs, a desperate sound.

“I just want our baby to have something from your family. It’s silly and-”

“It’s not silly,” he leans forward and kisses her forehead, “I promise you I will tell our child all about Samantha and how she drove me crazy. I want William, or Jackson, whoever he wants to be, to be the same annoying big brother I was. I’ll tell them both, Scully. About the bad casseroles my mom used to make or how the sound of my dad eating sunflower seeds made me feel at home.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He kisses her again, on the lips this time. “But let’s go back to bed now, huh? We need to get all the sleep while we still can.” Mulder helps her up and dusts off a few more spider webs. “That’s my sweatshirt,” he says.

“I was cold.”

“I can warm you up in bed. Come on.” She is reluctant to leave the doll up here, but Mulder takes it from her hand and puts it back in the box. “Courage to belief, right? Believe me when I tell you that it’ll all work out. You, me, our son and this new baby. Believe me?”

“Always, Mulder.” She takes his hand.


End file.
